Missing
by isaytoodlepip
Summary: Severus Snape was a spy, but he always thought the people he cared about knew which side he was on.  A set up, a betrayal, and an attempt at starting again.  Eventually HPSS.  Originally written in 2004, so obviously AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Missing

**Summary**: Severus Snape was a spy, but he always thought the people he cared about knew which side he was on. A set up, a betrayal, and an attempt at starting again. Eventually HP/SS

**Author's Note**: I wrote this story years ago. I think it was in 2004, back when my pen name was Tubesox, back when I still wrote in the HP fandom, back before everything changed for Snape, back before we all found out how it ended. Today, I changed my pen name on this site, and as I read my profile, I realized that there are quite a few of my old HP stories that were archived on other sites and never made it here (though I could have sworn this one had). So, I'm posting my oldies. Obviously, these stories are dated and should be labeled AU. Just keep in mind, this was before The End. On with the fic!

**December, 1999**

Severus Snape pulled at his gloves ineffectually, as if digging his fingers into the leather would make them any warmer. Scowling at the cold, at the crowds, at life in general, he pulled his cloak close to him and maneuvered around the throng of people in the streets of Hogsmeade. It was amazing to him that, even in the middle of war, the congested streets of Christmas were still a constant. Not that Severus was out in the near-blizzard to buy last minute gifts, like the others around him. No, the only thing that could have driven out of his comparatively warm dungeons during the shopping season was duty. Thankfully, this day's duty had to do with Potions, and not a mission for either of his "masters". Finally reaching the apothecary, Severus gratefully ducked into the store's heat and shook the stray snowflakes from his cloak and hair. Normally, he'd browse the store's shelves, but even this place was full to bursting, so he went straight to the counter to pick up his order, excusing himself from being caught in conversation with Hermione Granger, who'd graduated the year before and was now seeking refuge within the castle's walls, along with her two friends and a dozen others who were high on the Dark Lord's list of targets.

"Hello, Matet," Severus greeted the apothecary.

"Professor Snape," the old man greeted warmly. "Here for the scorpion stings?"

"Please," Severus answered, moving closer to the counter to avoid being jostled too much from the people working their ways through the narrow aisles.

" That'll be 7 galleons for this batch," Matet calculated, packing the goods into a magically sealed parcel.

"Just put it on my tab, as usual," Severus answered, carefully slipping the package into the satchel he word beneath his outer cloak.

"I would, Professor Snape, and I know you're good for it, but the funds from your visit Monday didn't come through," Matet said softly, awkwardly, not wanting to embarrass one of his best customers and friends, especially when a handful of people from the school were close by.

"Didn't…are you sure?" Severus asked, his brows knit in a frown.

"'Fraid so. Shall I bill the school for this, then?"

"Yes, yes, that's fine. Here, I have 3 galleons on me, for those dragon scales on Monday. I'll look into it, and I apologize for the inconvenience," Severus added, sliding the money across the counter, the frown on his face hardening into a look of concentration and, if you knew him well enough to see it, concern. In his line of work, surprises were far from welcome.

"Don't trouble yourself too much, Professor. Probably some Goblin cock up," Matet smiled gently.

"We'll see. Have a nice day," Severus said, but was out the door before he could hear Matet's reply.

...ooo...ooo...

A few hours later, Severus was one of the first of the Order to arrive in Albus's office for the nightly strategy meeting.

"Something the matter, Severus?" Remus Lupin asked from his side of the round room. He'd been sitting in his usual chair, reading like always when Severus had arrived, and now that Dumbledore had excused himself to collect some papers from his quarters upstairs, they were alone.

"Nothing of importance," Severus answered, distracted by his thoughts and the burning Dark Mark on his forearm. Tonight it would be, then. "Some confusion about my finances in Hogsmeade," he elaborated, trusting Remus not to read too much into his confession, and not to make any jokes about poverty, as Severus would have surely done if the roles were reversed.

"Have you contacted Gringotts?" Remus asked, and Severus knew that the concern in his voice was not truly for him, but for the chance, slim though it seemed, that someone had breached the bank's security.

"I'm going to London this weekend," Severus answered. "After I return."

"He's calling?"

"Yes."

...ooo...ooo...

That night's meeting went according to script, the same arguments made the night before and the night before that, only minor details like location and time changed. It would have been boring, had it not been for the fact that they were talking about lives, and deaths. Too many deaths, these days, but they couldn't focus on that. Instead, they dug out old issues, some that had been considered settled. One, according to Severus, that had not been.

"Albus, you know the boy. He won't stand for it much longer."

"Severus," the Headmaster sighed, tiring easier these days, they all noticed. "This has been decided. Harry will remain at the safe house, under the protection of the Fidelius Charm, until we are ready to use him." He immediately regretted his choice of words when he saw several faces around him, namely Severus's, Remus's, and Hermione's, redden.

"Listen to you," Severus scoffed. "Potter knows that you think of him this way, Headmaster, and he won't stand for being made a weapon much longer. Mark my words, he'll follow his godfather's poor example soon and get himself killed if you keep him locked up, in the dark."

If they'd asked him, Severus would say that he cared little for Harry Potter, only for the damage he could do to the war efforts should the hot-headed Gryffindor take it upon himself to seek Voldemort out alone. Of course, Severus wasn't a spy for nothing, and, though he was loathe to admit it even to himself, he was concerned for Harry, and for the expectations that they all placed on the young man. And if having him closer might be personally beneficial, who could blame him for wanting Harry closer?

"Harry will stay at the safe house," Albus repeated. "It's the best we can do for him, for now. Respect my decision in this matter, Severus."

"I have to go," Severus muttered. "Duty calls."

Most nights, Albus would have bade him goodbye, good luck. He would have told him to be careful, and to come back safe. But this night, Albus Dumbledore was tired, weary, and he only nodded and politely waved the Potions Master out the door.

...ooo...ooo...

The coming dawn saw Severus Snape, half-crawling along a seemingly abandoned road, trying not to collapse, trying not to cry out in pain. Something's wrong, he thought to himself, and then laughed. Of course something was wrong. He was beaten, wandless, obviously exposed and certainly being tracked. The night had been hell, and that was in comparison to the usual unpleasant visits he had with Voldemort. He'd been punished for his "failings" with an ingestible form of the Imperius Curse. He'd been punished for his success with a low-grade undetectable truth serum. He'd been punished for others' failings, and others' successes. He'd taken it all, hoping to God that Voldemort was just having a bad night, but when the Dark Lord had summoned Severus's wand and snapped it in two, he knew that it was the end. Only, it wasn't. For some reason, he'd been dismissed, and now he was crawling home, bleeding from a stomach wound, gasping through a collapsed lung, and trying not to look at his broken body. He knew that he'd been discovered, knew that he was being followed by two Death Eaters, who'd been 200 yards behind him when he left Voldemort's encampment. He knew that he shouldn't be returning to the cottage he kept in Wales, for just this purpose, for taking time and healing the worst of his injuries before returning to the school. But he reasoned that, if the bastard had found out he was a spy, he most likely knew about the cottage. And, whatever Voldemort hoped, Severus knew that he wasn't leading his hunters back to anything of worth.

A portkey, in the guise of one of the many buttons on his robe, had taken him as close to the cottage as the wards allowed, and now Severus's only hope, as he scrambled down the road, down the hill, around the forest that would clear and show the cottage, was that the haven still stood, that his healing potions were still there, that the second portkey, keyed to his touch, was still hidden and waiting to whisk him back to Hogwarts. But as he rounded the trees, his heart sunk and his face hardened, seeing the cottage, or what was left of it, still in flames. He quickly moved back under the cover of trees, and looked around him. The ones following him hadn't arrived yet, and whoever had destroyed the cottage had left. Severus tried to tell himself that luck was with him, but it wasn't a comforting thought. His last magical resource had been stripped of him and now, beside the few tasks he could perform wandless, he was dependant on Muggle means of clinging to his life. He quickly ran through a mental list of his options, or lack thereof. He had no owl, no fire place. He couldn't chance turning to the closest wizard settlement, 3 miles west of his location. It would be watched. So his last recourse would have to be a letter by post. The only address he knew if within The Order that had access to Muggle post was at the Grangers' in Epsom. So he'd have to somehow get to the village just under a mile away, and find somewhere safe to lay low and send his letter.

A plan decided upon, Severus followed through the best he could. He stuck to the outer edges of the forest, and, when he came to it, the river, following it to Begbaile, the isolated village where his salvation lay. Occasionally, he heard snaps of branches, muffled oaths, behind him. He was still being pursued, and he was both annoyed and near-frightened that he didn't know why he'd been "set free". But the two men on his trail gave him no trouble, and when he finally reached Begbaile and had, ignoring the disgust and concern in the barkeep's face, settled in a booth at the local tavern, he was alone. The Death Eaters hadn't entered the village. From the window, Severus watched as the men came to the edge of the tree line, kicked at the robe Severus had abandoned there, gave a cursory survey of the town, and then Disapparated. They obviously felt secure in the knowledge that Severus was in no condition to get himself back to the safety of Hogwarts.

"What can I get you?" the barkeep asked him.

"Do you know any way I can get to Cardiff?" Severus wheezed, taking a handful of napkins from the holder on the table and pressing them against the wound in his stomach. His shirt was torn and soaked through, but the wound, deep as it was, was also narrow, and he was relieved that he hadn't been disemboweled, contrary to what the level of pain told him.

"We have a clinic here," the man frowned, handing Severus the dish towel he'd been drying his hands with.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Severus grimaced, calling in his memories of his brief stay in the Muggle world for training. "Well, not really, I'm fucking banged up good and proper, turned my car over. But my wife's in Cardiff, she's in labor and my bloody mobile…well, I need to get there. Any buses, trains?"

"There's a coach, it leaves at noon every day. You've about 4 hours until then. You really ought to get yourself looked at."

...ooo...ooo...

Six hours later, Severus was sitting at the back of the bus, going south to Cardiff. While in Begbaile, he'd let the local doctor stitch the stomach wound, and bandage other superficial cuts and burns. There was nothing that could be done about the broken ribs, but thankfully his lungs were both well and functioning, and the doctor had been understanding about the situation with "his wife", or else he would have insisted that Severus be shipped to the closest hospital, which was in Llanhilleth. The bus fair and a decent breakfast took up most of his reserve of Muggle currency that he always kept on him for emergencies, but he had enough left to pay for postage on the missive sent to the Order, care of the Grangers, explaining the situation and giving them the name of a hotel that he remembered, on the Bristol Channel, just south of Cardiff. It was risky, betraying his plans in a letter that could easily be intercepted, but he had little choice. Even if he knew the number, he couldn't trust the security of the phone lines at the Grangers'. He only hoped that the Death Eaters who had been trailing him through the forest had not seen him board the bus. It was a slim hope, but he would cling to it for now. He would just wait at the hotel, try to keep himself alive, and they would come for him. Only a few days, he told himself. Only a few days.

...ooo...ooo...

"How long has it been now? Three days?"

"Four."

"Christ, do you think he's – ,"

"Enough," Dumbledore snapped, from his desk chair. "I'd rather you two not speculate so."

"Albus," Remus began, softly. It was necessary these days to tread lightly around the Headmaster, especially when it concerned a certain Potions Master. Severus Snape had been missing for four days. "I think it's time that we count Severus as a loss."

"But he may come back," Hermione countered. She had finished her education at Hogwarts the previous year and was now a trusted member of the Order of the Phoenix, and one of the few in the select group that had a friendship of sorts with Snape. "You know that Voldemort sometimes requires things of him that take days longer than he'd expect. There's no reason to think that this is any different."

"Except he's always sent word before," Remus pointed out. Hermione was about to argue when Bill Weasley came into the Headmaster's office.

"Any news of Severus?" Dumbledore asked immediately, offers of tea, sweets, or even a chair lost to his concern.

"It's not good," Bill sighed, sitting beside Remus.

"Has he been found?" Hermione asked.

"It's worse than that," Bill answered grimly, handing her a scroll he had brought with him.

Scanning it quickly, the only sound that could get passed her lips was a strangled, "No!"

"This comes from Gringotts, from the Office of the Muggle Liaison Goblin. It seems that Snape had all of the contents of his family fault transferred to a Muggle bank in Switzerland two days before he left the castle. The same bank that half of the senior Death Eaters have accounts with."

"Are you suggesting that Severus has defected?" Remus asked. "Because this could be smoke and mirrors."

"It's not looking that way, Professor Lupin," Bill answered. "Has my father come yet?"

"Arthur?" Dumbledore asked. "No, we haven't seen him since Wednesday."

"Well, I expect he'll be along shortly."

No sooner than that was said did Arthur Weasley walk through the door with the news that the cottage in Wales where Snape was known to repair to after long missions, taking the time to collect his thoughts, clean the blood off his hands, and heal any wounds before returning to the school, had been razed to the ground.

"Was there any trace of him there?" Remus asked.

"Yes. _Magical_ trace," Arthur answered darkly. "Our aurors have concluded that the damage done was by his own hand. It looks like he's painting the picture of a hero's demise. Ambushed by Death Eaters. He didn't want us to know that…"

"He wouldn't do this," Hermione snapped. "Headmaster, you _know_ he wouldn't do this!"

"I've seen good men go bad before, Hermione," Albus sighed. "Severus proved at seventeen that he had this in him. I just refused to see it."

"That's _shite_!" Remus yelled, shocking them all, more with his tone than with the uncharacteristic profanity. "Albus, Hermoine's right. He _wouldn't_ do this. It's unforgivable of you to doubt him this way, after all he's done."

"Tell me, Remus, what I should think," Albus said calmly. "He has squirreled away funds. He has destroyed his home. He. Is. Not. Here. What should I think?"

"Anything but this! Maybe he's in trouble, on the run. Maybe he's been discovered. I'm not writing him off as a turncoat."

"He's done it before," Hermione pointed out reluctantly. "Only to the other side."

"He's been more and more hostile with all of us in the Order lately," Bill added. "You know he's been complaining about the situation with Harry."

Severus had indeed been very vocal about the way Dumbledore had virtually placed the young man under house arrest, "for his own good". He'd been bringing it up at every meeting, saying that Harry couldn't last in seclusion much longer, often likening him to Sirius Black.

"Maybe he wanted Harry out in the open so he'd be more vulnerable to Voldemort," Arthur suggested.

"You're all resigned to think the worst of him," Remus growled.

"He wasn't happy with his role, either," Hermione continued, as if trying to convince herself that Snape was a traitorous bastard. "He thought you were putting his life at unnecessary risk," she said, looking at Dumbledore. "That you were asking too much of him."

"And you were!" Remus accused. "Every time he came back, he was more hurt than before. It was like Voldemort _knew_ that he was working for us. So, maybe this time, he was angry enough to…"

"We don't know Snape was hurt for sure," Bill interrupted. "I mean, he'd always heal the 'serious injuries' himself at the cottage. How do we know he was ever tortured? He could have made it all up."

They were all quiet for a very long time.

"Albus, will you let me go look for him?" Remus asked.

"Remus, I think it's time that we count Severus as a loss."

"I'm going to look for him," Remus insisted.

"Remus, you've been wrong before," Dumbledore said softly, but sternly. "The situation with Sirius. Maybe you're reaching -."

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Remus hissed, a glow in his eyes causing Hermione to tense at his side, and to remember how dangerous he could be.

"Professor Lupin, you will remain in this castle until ordered elsewhere," Dumbledore ordered calmly, every aspect of him daring Remus to contradict him, save his eyes, which were pleading with him to understand.

"You're wrong," Remus whispered, but when he left the room, he returned to his office, just as Dumbledore had bid. He didn't plan on staying there long. Everything he knew told him that Severus was still on their side, and that he'd been taken from them, and should be found and taken back. Everything he knew told him that this is what he owed the man. But the war pressed on, and plans, and brothers in arms, were laid to waste, and Severus Snape fell through Remus Lupin's fragile grasp.

Dumbledore sighed when Remus left his office, but was distracted from the meeting by an owl that alighted his windowsill. Reading the letter, his heart grew heavy. He looked around the room, deciding who should go, and knowing who must stay.

"Kingsley," he commanded in a weary but hard voice, "bring Severus Snape in."

Kingsley Shacklebolt set his face, nodded, and left.

"The rest of you are dismissed. Except you, Miss Granger. Please stay. We have something to discuss."

...ooo...ooo...

"Snape, surrender your wand, put your hands on the wall, and there will be no need for this to become unpleasant," Kingsley instructed, using a voice he'd acquired growing up, helping rescued griffins and other skittish, caged, wounded animals on his grandmother's farm.

"This is ridiculous," Severus panted, winded from dodging curses the junior aurors had thrown at him, before Shacklebolt had ordered them out of the room. It was now the fifth day since Severus had been tortured by Voldemort, but his wounds were still fresh, as was this new blossoming pain, that of betrayal. When he'd heard the faint popping sounds outside the window of his ground floor room, he'd been relieved, not caring which side it was, only that it was over. He'd even laughed, with joy, when Kingsley had caught his glance. But then his stomach surged when he saw the look in the Auror's face, and the shock from it kept him inside his room, rather than urging him to run away from whatever mistake this was. It was a stupid mistake, he knew, letting himself expect things like trust and compassion of his comrades.

"You've been discovered, Snape," Shacklebolt went on.

"Obviously!" Severus answered, gesturing towards his stomach, to a wound that Shacklebolt couldn't see, for the shirt covering it.

"Bill found out about the Swiss bank account. Arthur found the cottage, the magical signature."

While Shacklebolt listed the charges, Severus added it all up in his head. The mistake at the apothecary. The portkey in the cottage that no one knew about. His own history, his name, his House, everything. It was damning.

"Kingsley, this is a mistake," Severus said calmly. "I've been set up. Voldemort found me out…I've been set up. The Grangers! I sent them a letter days ago! I explained…why would I give up my location if I was defecting?"

Shacklebolt's brow furrowed, doubt clouded his eyes, but he'd been trusted with a task and had little choice but comply with Dumbledore's orders. Besides, maybe it was a lie. Maybe the bastard… "The Grangers are dead," he announced coldly.

"Wha…no," Severus hissed.

"The house was set aflame. They were locked inside. We found you through leads from Begbaile."

"The Grangers…," Severus whispered, not knowing what to say, but sure what was coming next.

"If you did send a letter, as you say, how did you know the address?"

"Don't be an idiot," Severus snapped. "I'm in the Order, for fuck's sake."

"You weren't in on those meetings," Shacklebolt countered coldly. "We made sure you weren't in any meetings where locations of safe houses were discussed."

"Hermione. I went there with Hermione, ask her," Severus snarled, his only way of keeping the whimper from his voice. He couldn't believe this was happening. He couldn't believe that, after all he'd given these people, they could think this of him. He couldn't believe he was surprised.

"Surrender your wand, put your hands on the wall," Shacklebolt repeated. "Come on, Snape. Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be."

"I don't fucking have my wand!" he fairly shrieked.

"Turn around, hands on the wall."

There was nothing he could do. Nothing. He couldn't duel Kingsley, not without a wand. And there was no way he could take him on physically. There was only one chance. Wandless magic. But it would have to be powerful enough to knock the man out, give him time to escape, to collect proof of his innocence. To get his life back. But Severus only knew one spell powerful enough to do that, only one spell that he'd been trained to do wandless since the age of nine.

"Crucio."

Kingsley collapsed, dropped his wand. Severus knew he needed it, but decided simply to use it to ward the door, and then threw it out of the auror's reach. Being considered "armed and dangerous" would only get him killed. Looking down at the screaming man, the man he had considered something of a friend, Severus briefly took pity. He knelt, grabbing at Kingsley's hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Ask Matet, Ask Hermione. And it was a portkey." He knew he wasn't making sense, especially to a man howling in pain. So he retrieved the wand, stopped the curse and petrified the man. And then, hurrying out the window to avoid the junior aurors, dropping the wand, running to the beach, Severus realized what he'd done. He'd burned his bridges. He'd made it impossible to go back home. Really, he'd given them all, the Order, the Death Eaters, he'd given them all enough rope to hang him with. That thought in mind made him run that much faster towards the shore.

...ooo...ooo...

"What the fuck is he doing?"

The younger of the two Death Eaters had just run up to join his companion, having been previously occupied buying them both some sandwiches and drinks. Now, he was watching Severus Snape pace the shoreline, occasionally glancing back at the hotel, but unaware of his more sinister audience.

The senior Death Eater simply leaned back against the wall of the changing room on the beach, where they'd been stationed all morning. He lit a cigarette, took the food from the other's hand, and silently watched the unraveling of their former comrade.

"He's trying to escape!" the younger man laughed, as Severus Snape stripped off his shirt and dove into the freezing water, as if planning to swim to England.

"He's trying to kill himself," his companion answered, bored.

"What's the difference?"

A few well-placed stunning hexes and a summoning spell later, and Severus Snape was a prisoner of war. One that had no hope of rescue.

...ooo...ooo...

Harry sat on the sofa, panting, oblivious to the damage he'd just done, save for the blood pouring from a ripped fingernail. The house was in shambles, torn apart. Just like him. He felt like he was going mad, trapped in this miserable place, while Hermione…

He'd gotten the letter the day before. He'd never been close to Hermione's parents, not like he had with the Weasleys, but he still _needed_ to be there for the funeral. For Hermione. Only he couldn't. He couldn't leave the house, couldn't even _speak_ to her, only send letters that were torn open and read by who knows how many Order members, checking for tracing spells and for any classified information he might have let slip. It was painfully lacking as far as solace goes, a second-hand letter a week too late. But, because of Dumbledore, it was all Harry could give, which is why the house looked like a bludger had been set loose within its close walls.

And the news about Snape was nearly as bad, as far as Harry was concerned. It was a testament to how well and truly cast out the Potions Master was, that the whole sordid story was deemed tame enough, pedestrian enough, to come to Harry through strictly regulated channels. Twice. Both Remus and Hermione, surprisingly enough in her grief, told Harry about the latest twist of fate, and it was easy enough for him to discern what his friends thought. It just wasn't Snape. Remus and Hermione had "friendships" to fall back on for faith in the man, but to Harry, the matter simply boiled down to this: Severus Snape was not sloppy. Yet here he was, discovered as a traitor, nearly caught, close to desperate in his claims of innocence. Harry conceded that he didn't really know the man, no matter what they'd done together the last time they'd met, but he'd often imagined, in his youth, the day when all his hatred for the greasy bastard would be justified, the day when they found out he was really a Death Eater. And this fantasy either featured a vindictive Snape, a manipulative Snape, or a dead Snape, but never, _never_ a pleading, running Snape. The man was just too stubborn.

Harry sighed, and surveyed the damage he had wrought. It was all a distraction from the big picture, he knew, just like this new fixation on the Snape Situation. But what else could he think about? What else did he have? Four walls, and fatalism. And nothing good to eat. So who could blame him for welcoming distractions?

He went to the writing desk by the window, stepping over broken vases and turned-over lamps, contemplating writing Hermione that letter of sympathy. Or empathy. But what should he say, when she already knew he still had nightmares about his parents dying? "It'll get better," was a lie, "I'm sorry," was woefully inadequate, and he couldn't even tell her that he was there for her, because, obviously, he wasn't. Which was the whole bloody point.

So instead, he wrote to Ron, who very well could have been one of the junior aurors that was sent to apprehend Snape, for all he knew. Time and distance was more of a strain in _that_ friendship than either had anticipated, or even thought possible. Harry wrote for nearly an hour. About how the Cruciatus was a bastard thing to do, but more about how things didn't look right. Why was Snape alone in some hotel? What did that bartender mean, saying Snape was in bad shape? What happened to Snape's wand? Where the hell was he?

In the end, Harry didn't send the letter. In all likelihood, it wouldn't have made it past the screeners anyway. And what would it change? Ron would call Snape a greasy git, and defer to Dumbledore, who had already written Snape off as a backstabber, and who would never change his mind about anything, or anyone, until it was too late. No, Harry didn't send that letter. But he did finally write Hermione, telling her he was sorry. He knew she'd understand. And hopefully, she'd understand why he couldn't stay in this fucking house one day longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**3 Months Later**

The war was over. The Light had won, but at what cost? So many losses. Hermione Granger. Bill Weasley. Moody. McGonagall. So many lives ruined. Harry Potter. He had survived the final battle but was so embittered by a world that had used him as a weapon, and by the blood of friends that he still saw on his hands, that he had left the magical world a few days later, without word or warning. So many wounded. Albus Dumbledore, who would never walk again. Remus Lupin, who had been captured days before his first Change without the Wolfsbane potion, and had gnawed off his own paw to escape from his chains. And, lastly, so many betrayals, which were the hardest of all to swallow.

Three days after Voldemort's fall, the wards and glamour spells he'd conjured about his stronghold had faded, exposing a vast system of caves, a virtual castle built into and out of rock. A team of top aurors and curse breakers were sent into the heart of the Caingorns to ferret out any hiding Death Eaters and, with little hope of success, to rescue any prisoners the Dark Lord may have collected over the years.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was the first to see him there, in one of the many torture chambers, huddled in the corner like a frightened child. Only, on closer inspection, he had no choice in his posture, his hands bound to his feet with iron manacles. It was a position that had left his back vulnerable to his captors, as evidenced by the fact that it was torn to shreds, most likely by whips. He was shivering, so not unconscious, Kingsley noted with disgusted wonder. Perhaps the pain and fear were enough to keep him awake, and maybe the cold, but Kingsley thought it'd be a miracle if the exposed man was trembling merely in response to the elements.

Three months. Three months in this hell hole, being chained and tortured in more ways than Kingsley had the strength to imagine, and they all had left him for dead. For worse than dead.

"Professor Snape?" Kingsley finally whispered, wishing he was somehow mistaken. But the man looked up at him with hollow eyes, and Kingsley began to realize the extent of their sins against their comrade.

...ooo...ooo...

Two hours later, Kingsley was back at Hogwarts, back against one of the hospital wing's walls, trying to keep out of the way as Poppy and other medical staff swirled about the place, streamers of gauze strips and the sound of tinkling glass making it feel like some grotesque parade. And it was grotesque, Kingsley observed. There were nine patients in all, miserable wretches that he'd liberated from Voldemort's fallen stronghold. Some aurors. Some muggles. Some squibs, who had obviously been used for genetic testing. But the worst off was the man in the bed in the corner. Kingsley closed his eyes, trying not to imagine…back torn to shreds, internal injuries, dead eyes. And that wasn't the worst of it. Kingsley had, unfortunately, seen horrors in his life that made Snape's injuries seem superficial. He'd seen Bill Weasley, his chest imploded…Kingsley shook his head, trying to focus on what this day's pain was. The pain was coming from the quiet surrounding that last bed. All around him, mediwizards were fussing over people who'd been starved, or beaten, or frightened. But that man in the corner, who'd been tortured and betrayed, was alone. Again. Because Hermione was dead, and Minerva was dead, and Dumbledore was too weak in spirit to come and face his mistake. And Remus…Kingsley forced himself away from the wall at that thought. Remus was at the hospital, probably hearing for the last time that nothing could be done for his lost hand, but he'd want to know that they'd found their missing. Looking once more in disgust at the scene, at the way Poppy stiffly approached Snape's bed, silently reapplied healing salves to his back and left him alone again, Kingsley left for the Owlery, and then to find the Headmaster. The old man needed to face the casualties of his war.

...ooo...ooo...

"Can he hear me?"

The Headmaster's voice came to him as if through gossamer. Or gauze, given the smell of antiseptics in the air.

"Of course I can hear you," Severus answered, shocked to hear the weakness in his voice. Had he been screaming?

He knew it would hurt him, opening his eyes, but he did it just the same, and caught the relief in Dumbledore's gaze, followed by the regret. Or was it guilt?

"Took your time finding me, didn't you?" he teased, as was shown by the slight uplifting at the right edge of his torn mouth. He assumed that they'd realized their mistake. He assumed that they'd come after him. The thought that the war was over, that the thing was finally done, hadn't crossed his mind. He knew, lying in that hospital bed, that he'd hate himself, once he was himself again, for feeling so thankful, after everything that had happened. But being awake and not feeling metal against his skin, he couldn't find it in him to be angry or indignant. Yet.

Dumbledore's eyes shuttered. "Rest, my boy. I'll come again when you feel better." And then he was gone, borne aloft and out of the infirmary by a hovering chair. Severus was too shocked by the man's injuries to pay much attention to his reaction, or that of Poppy, or Shacklebolt, both of whom looked ready to spit fire. He briefly wondered what he'd done, before falling asleep.

...ooo...ooo...

"How did it end?" That was the first question Severus Snape put to Remus Lupin, who'd been at his bedside nearly every time he'd woken in the past three days. He didn't bother asking what went wrong. He knew, from the faces that never quite turned his way, from the apologies and explanations that never quite made it past anyone's lips. And he remembered that Dumbledore had never answered the question. Because the answer was obvious, and one that Severus thought he should have expected. They hadn't taken their time finding him. They hadn't looked at all. Beyond that, he needed no explanation. Who he was, he thought to himself, was reason enough. But he was curious to know the end of the real story.

"Harry killed him," Remus answered, sitting up in his chair, careful to fight the instinct of putting weight on the hand that was no longer there, except in memory. The prosthetic was strong, English oak, just like his wand. But it wasn't alive, wasn't him, was just another intruder in his body, like the monster that lurked beneath his skin, and he refused to rely on it for anything. "You were right, of course. Only a few days after you…disappeared, Harry broke out of the safe house. The news got back to Voldemort, and for weeks, both sides nearly forgot about the other. We were all frantic to get our hands on him, as you can imagine. When he finally contacted us, from the Muggle world, the plans to recover him were intercepted. That's when Hermione…I don't know if they told you."

"Yes," Severus grunted. "Minerva too, then?"

"No, a few days later, on the last day of war. When Hermione was killed, Harry flew into a rage that would have made you proud. Practically challenged Voldemort to a duel. The invitation was accepted. They met, they fought. Harry won. But Voldemort had sent half of the Death Eaters to Hogwarts, hoping that the threat against the children would keep Albus there. Which it did, of course. That's when Minerva died, defending her cubs."

"And you?" Severus asked.

"I wasn't there," Remus answered. "I was with Harry, but nothing came of it. I couldn't have helped if we'd been allowed to anyway. That change…and what they did to me before. It took more out of me than I'd thought I could give."

Both men were quiet for a few minutes, perhaps in honor of all that had been lost.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" Remus finally asked.

"I don't need to," Severus sighed. He was restless, nearly well again and waiting to be discharged so he could…well, he didn't know what he'd do next. Perhaps take a page out of Potter's book and run away.

"I would have looked for you," Remus whispered.

"Lupin, don't."

"He ordered me not to," Remus pressed on.

"And you're so fond of rules," Severus snapped, angry that the man was pushing him towards the resentment and hurt that he wanted to bury along with all of his dead friends, his dead hopes, his dead honor.

"But I went anyway," Remus continued.

"And you lost the scent?" Severus sneered.

"No. I lost something else," Remus answered calmly, not bothering to look at the wooden hand at the end of his arm.

"You can't blame that on me," Severus hissed.

"I don't," Remus shrugged. He still smiled at him, when he said goodbye that afternoon.

...ooo...ooo...

"You'll be awarded the Order of Merlin, of course," Dumbledore was saying. Severus had finally been released from the Hospital Wing that morning, and not knowing where he stood in this new, Voldemort-free world, he'd reluctantly sought his old mentor out. There were issues to be settled, practical issues only, things that, while not painless, Severus was confident he could face head on. Things like the paltry savings that had been seized by the Ministry. Things like the land his cottage had once stood on, which had been repossessed and developed. Things like his belongings, which either had been destroyed or sold off at auction. No, these things were not painless, but Severus could face them. And he had, with a blank face, but now he only wanted to leave, before Dumbledore could apologize, or worse, try to explain himself.

"First Class, I'd imagine," the old man added, obviously searching for the right words. He failed.

"What on earth for?" Severus asked.

"For your service to the magical world," Dumbledore answered, not missing a beat. It was smooth, instinctive, as only a familiar lie could be.

Severus wanted to scream. He wanted to destroy the man's office, to throw the tea set against the wall, to throw the man against the wall. He wanted to cry. He wanted to forget everything, to except the bribes to forget everything. He wanted to forgive and move on. He wanted his room, which was empty. He wanted his wand, which was broken. He wanted his life, which was both empty and broken. All these wants were pressing on him, and were more than he, who had always tried to deny himself, could bear. All these wants, and the worst of them were, _I want to swim into the sea. I want my chains._

"No," Severus whispered.

"Pardon?" Dumbledore asked, the signs of a frown between his eyes telling Severus that he'd been expected to take what was given him like a good little boy.

"Nothing," Severus answered, shaking his head. "Goodbye, Headmaster. I consider whatever debt I owed you repaid. If you disagree, you can go fuck yourself."

...ooo...ooo...

"Where are you going?" Remus asked him.

Severus had just left the Headmaster's office, planning to return to his rooms to pack before remembering that he had no things. Nothing. At all. Remus Lupin had found him just as he was leaving the castle, meaning to leave before he did something he'd regret, like begging for his old job. It wasn't the money, he told himself, no matter how destitute he was. It was the fact that he had no purpose and, though his pride hated to admit to it, no real marketable skills beyond potions. In short, he had no idea where he was going.

"Probably to London," Severus answered, making it up as he went along. "I'm hoping that either the Ministry or Gringotts will give me some financial compensation for the…ah, _misunderstanding_. I need a wand, food. Beyond that, I haven't the faintest idea."

Remus blinked several times, trying to contain the shock at such a straightforward answer.

"I can help," he finally said, knowing that the man would take it poorly, but needing to offer just the same.

"Tips on the indigent lifestyle?" Severus sneered. Remus always had been the easiest to fight, the most willing to take it.

"I meant, financially. Until you get sorted out. Or, you can stay with me."

"I think not," Severus answered softly, just to show that it wasn't the man that was distasteful, merely the charity.

"Or you can go to the werewolf half-way house, down Knockturn Alley. They normally don't accept human lodgers, but if you'd brew them the Wolfsbane potion, I'm sure they'd be more than willing to give you room and board.," Remus pressed on.

"I could probably make a potion for that," Severus bleated out awkwardly, pointing at Remus's artificial hand. He hadn't known what to say to the man, how to thank him for the rather one-sided friendship, how to apologize for not being able to brew him his monthly potion. So he offered what he could, all he had left, and hoped it would mean as much as any words he couldn't find.

"It's been tried. It won't transform with me during the full moon. Just stayed human, and you can imagine how my wolf reacted to _that_. No, the prosthetic is fine. And it's not my wand hand. I manage quite well, for someone not completely whole."

"Consider yourself lucky, then. That's something I've always failed at," Severus said, and turned to go.

"Harry's in London," Remus called after him, words rushed, as if saying them faster would mean it wasn't wrong.

"I beg your pardon?" Severus asked, turning to face Remus.

"I know everyone's said he's disappeared. But obviously, we know where he is. Someone has to look out for him, even if he doesn't want to acknowledge that, or us for that matter. But…well, he's in London. He's working at the London Zoo, actually."

"Why are you telling me this?" Severus asked.

"In case you wanted to see him," Remus shrugged, a little too casually. "He'd want to see you. And I always thought you…well, he'd want to see you."

"Goodbye, Remus."

"Goodbye, Severus."


	3. Chapter 3

**November, 2000**

_You shoulda seen the tail on tha' one, mate. No joke._

"How many times to I have to tell you?" Harry sighed.

_I know, you're not interested. You sure you swing that way?_

"Miguel, that's exactly the point. Of _course_ I don't swing that way. I'm _human_, and no matter how fucked up I may be, bestiality isn't one of my many faults."

_Oh. Right. Keep forgettin' tha'._

"Besides, you don't exactly 'swing' that way either, do you? I mean, we're talking about a rat. You know, your food?"

_Someone's coming_.

"Still here, Harry?" Helen asked, closing the small trap door to the python exhibit behind her.

"What have you been feeding these buggers?" Harry laughed, grimacing comically over the heap of excrement and bones that he was shoveling into a waste bin.

"Babies that make too much of a fuss at the petting zoo," Helen smiled. "Miguel giving you a hard time?"

"No, he's fine. Can't believe he's a biter."

"Believe it. Trevor needed _stitches_."

_Not my fault that asshole stepped on my tail._

"He says it's not his fault," Harry said jokingly, just to show that no, he didn't really talk to the snakes.

"That I can believe," Helen laughed. "Trevor was a wanker."

"You just say that because he went for Roxie."

"You want to go out to the pub when you're done?" Helen asked.

"Nah, thanks. Still drunk from last time. Plus. I've Strawberry's cage to do yet."

"Right. Well, just make sure you're done by 7, or you'll get locked in."

"Will do. Night, Helen."

…

_She's in heat._

"That's something I didn't need to know, Miguel."

_Don't swing that way either?_

"What would you know about it?" Harry asked. He hadn't ever heard of homosexuality in the Animal Kingdom, apart from in humans that is.

_Just because you're the only one I can talk to don't mean I can't hear what others say_.

"True."

_Say hi to Strawberry for me_.

"Goodnight, Miguel."

...ooo...ooo...

Harry finished his work and was walking back to his flat, silently counting the eyes on him. The man in the parka, at the bus stop. The man walking out of the coffee shop, to his left. The woman in a slicker, standing near a payphone. It used to bother him, but now, as long as they left him alone, Harry didn't care. He'd been foolish to think they'd actually let him walk away, after everything. He'd only hoped.

Walking up the steps to the apartment building, he saw the blinds of the ground floor flat fall shut. Ron. Harry had only seen amber eyes, a shock of red hair, but it was enough to know that his old friend had been assigned as his guardian. So many times in the months since he'd ran away from the Wizarding world, he'd wanted to just knock on Ron's door, get it over with. There was animosity there that Harry could understand only too well. He had, after all, abandoned his friend. And killed the other. Not that Ron would ever blame him for Hermione's death, not to his face. But that was just because Harry was the only friend he had left. In truth, Harry had fucked up and Hermione'd paid the price, as she often had when it came to the stupidity of her two best friends. Harry wouldn't blame Ron one bit if he cursed him, killed him, threw a punch. Anything. Harry deserved it. For this, and so many more mistakes. But Ron just stayed in his flat, and Harry always walked by, pretending he didn't know that his best friend was living one floor below him. It wasn't easy, but nothing was easy, these days.

His flat was dark when he walked through the door, and empty, just as it should be. He could have found a better place. Could have filled it with furniture, played house. He had the money for it, but in the end, Harry couldn't bring himself to touch one knut of his inheritance. It was blood money. His parents, Sirius, even Hermione, they had all left him something. Harry wanted to think that they wouldn't have, if they knew that it was his fault they were dead. But they weren't like that. They were good people, people who had cared for him and would have forgiven him nearly everything. That only made it worse, in Harry's opinion. They were good people that would have told him it wasn't his fault. Only they couldn't tell him that, because he'd killed them. So how could he spend their money? How could he make a nice home for himself, how could he feel safe, how could he be friends with anyone, how could he love anyone? He'd taken those things from them, like he'd taken their love, and he'd never be able to give anything back, now. They were dead, rotting away, and who cares if they wouldn't ever know that he was doing the same, as long as he did it?

He'd had a similar conversation with Snape once. It was during one of those melodramatic "our new celebrity" speeches, and Harry had said that he wouldn't care if no one ever knew the good things he did. Because the good things had to be done, and it didn't matter who was watching. Snape hadn't believed him, and Harry could see why. Snape, after all, was always doing the hero's job, and no one ever knew. And Harry, well, he was the opposite of Snape in just about everything, so how could they possibly be alike in that one thing? Still, as Harry emptied his pockets onto the kitchen counter, he wished that Snape had believed him, that one time. Because the man had probably died thinking that Harry would be happy or something, glad for the extra glory that he could claim with Snape out of the way. The man had probably died hating him, knowing that Dumbledore had chosen to trust Harry over him, and knowing what a huge mistake that was. The man had probably died knowing that Harry would fuck up everything, and he'd have been right, and if only Snape had believed him that one time, maybe Snape would have died knowing Harry the best. And maybe he would have taken him with him.

"You're security is rather pathetic, Potter," a low voice said from the corner of the flat.

"Jesus," Harry gasped, dropping his glass of water on the counter and spraying his forearm with shards of glass.

"Not quite," Severus smirked. "But resurrected, or so it would seem. Turn on the bloody light, or the detail across the street will come up to check if you've made it inside."

Harry absently switched on the light above the stove. Severus Snape was sitting there, in his living room, very much alive. And dressed…

"What are you wearing?" Harry laughed. It was an inappropriate response, he knew, but it was such a shock to see Snape in something other than black robes.

"I've run away from home," Snape answered, eyes darting down to his dark jumper and slacks, and then to the bag at his feet. It didn't hold much, just what a few of the werewolves could share, but it was all he had in the world.

"Me too," Harry mumbled, moving over to the sink to pick the larger pieces of glass from his arm. The rest would have to be left to magic.

"You're cutting up your fingers, and making a mess of the kitchen," Severus frowned.

"It's fine," Harry shrugged. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I've told you. I've left the magical world, for now."

"I know but…I thought you were dead. I assumed…"

"Well, that was your first mistake, wasn't it?" Severus smirked, rising from his seat and coming into the kitchen.

"Should have known," Harry laughed, half-heartedly. "You're too damn tenacious to just die like that."

"I'm not a traitor," Severus said sharply, as if Harry had accused him of something.

"I never thought you were," Harry answered, running his arm under the faucet, wincing at the small cuts on his fingertips. "Where were you?"

"In the dark. I'm sure you can imagine, can you not?"

"Yes. Did Dumbledore tell you where I live?"

"No. Lupin."

"Did he even apologize?" Harry demanded.

"In his way."

"You mean he gave you a reasonable explanation about why he thought you'd defect like that, and thought that it made everything ok?" Harry snarled. He was still remembering his own conversation with Dumbledore, after Hermione. _It wasn't your fault, Harry. I should have realized that confinement wasn't the best solution for you. But what's important is that you're safe now, and Voldemort's forces_…

"Nothing he could have said would have made a difference," Severus answered. "I imagine you know how that feels."

"I killed her," Harry told the cabinet. He couldn't look the man in the eye.

"You also killed Voldemort."

"Yes."

"She would have said that it was more than a fair trade."

"She never really believed that you'd turned," Harry said, words rushed, desperate. "After she had a few days to think about it, after the funeral, she wrote me and said that it didn't make sense. That you wouldn't have done it. So, she didn't blame you for her parents or anything. In case you were wondering."

"Thank you."

The man's voice was soft, shrunken, and Harry had to look at the man. Shrunken. But nothing could soften him, his gaunt face, his sharp features, his acerbic manners.

"You look like hell," Harry said, casual tossing the dishrag he'd bloodied on the counter.

"You look older."

"It hasn't been that long."

"I remember."

"I thought you said it was best to forget all about it?"

Severus pulled out his new wand then, whispering a charm that had a shimmering stream of powdered glass raining from Harry's arm. Amazingly, neither of them felt it.

"Since when do either of us do what is best?" he finally said.

They fell into each other with a familiarity neither could understand. Fourteen months and seven days ago, they had spent six hours together, nearly five of them sleeping. But as Severus pressed Harry into the counter, pressed his lips to his, swept his tongue with his, took his warmth as his, it felt, to both of them, as if they'd been doing this for years.

"God," Harry gasped, amazed at how desperate he was for the man. He hadn't touched anyone in so long. He'd accepted the occasional pats on the arm, the few hugs, with a grimace and guilt that at that moment, his cock digging into Severus's thigh, he couldn't place. He couldn't even remember why he'd denied himself this. All he could do was marvel at how his skin seemed to soak in Severus's heat, how Severus's mouth seemed to swallow every moan he was surely making. His hands were beginning to go numb, his shoulders to burn, as he braced himself against the counter, trying to keep his back from being snapped in two by the weight of the man leaning into him. His cheeks were sweating from the hot hands holding him in place. His glasses were putting an uncomfortable pressure on the bridge of his nose. He was so hard, and Severus was steel against him, and he was sure he'd crumble there.

"Bedroom?" he panted, struggling to stand up straight, get the blood flowing back to his fingers, which he needed to be somewhere, anywhere, on Severus.

"Yes," Severus answered. Harry couldn't believe his ears could register a tone that deep.

Harry slipped away from him and led him into the bedroom, and Severus couldn't help but smile, watching Harry subtly straighten his shoulders, and not so subtly rub his hands over his ass as he smoothed out his pants. While they walked, Severus pulled off his sweater and tossed it on the sofa. He paused at the door, watching Harry sweep dirty clothes off the bed, and he toed of his shoes, kicking them aside. Harry was still turned away from him, stripping himself with what Severus hoped was embarrassment, and not hesitation. Their first night together, it had been so frenzied, so unexpected, so desperate, that before either had the chance to actually think about what they were doing, they were already naked, and too close to coming to care that they'd missed so much in their haste. Severus had made it slower then, needing to remember, knowing it wouldn't last. Now, watching Harry bare himself to him, he was reminded of his own vulnerability. He'd let Harry take him that night. Not because of any preference or particular concern, but because it had been easier, quicker. They'd both needed immediate and Severus was never one to back down from momentary pain. But tonight, after…everything, Severus knew it couldn't be that way again for him. Until a few minutes ago, he had imagined that he would never touch anyone again, ever. He hadn't come to Harry for this. He hated that he had to go to anyone at all, but Harry was close and wouldn't turn him away. Harry was close and trusted. Severus didn't know what he was doing, why he wanted to do it, but he needed. Needed so much, everything that had been missing.

Moving away from the door and grabbing hold of Harry before the younger man could turn around, he drew him full against him, holding his hip fast, and whispered his need into Harry's ear. "I want to be inside of you."

He could feel Harry shudder, but he also felt the way Harry backed up farther against him, the way he ground against his cock, which was still painfully enclosed in his slacks.

"Yes," Harry hissed.

"I want to taste you," Severus said, whispering again.

"God," Harry moaned, twisting an arm behind himself, looping around to cradle Severus's neck.

"I need to fuck you," Severus growled.

Harry's answer was to tear away from him and jump onto the bed, only avoiding comical eagerness by being so damn beautiful, all golden lines, dark hair, smooth skin and green eyes. Severus wasted no time stripping himself, and soon he had Harry's velvet slick cock in his mouth. He loved this. Loved the heat coming off Harry, loved the comfortable weight against his cheek, loved the ridges against his tongue. He loved the mewling sounds coming from Harry. He loved the taste, he loved the ache. He even loved the angry need he had to swallow Harry whole, to swallow again and again and who cared if he couldn't breathe and who cared if his jaw was locking and who cared if his lips were splitting, when he needed it so much? And he knew why he needed it, when Harry came screaming his name.

"Fuck me," Harry moaned, after they both caught their breath.

"Turn over," Severus instructed, trying to think of something unpleasant so he wouldn't come, trying to avoid thinking of anything that would take this away from him. Nothing about flesh. Nothing about metal. No Hogwarts. No home. He couldn't think of anything.

"What are you doing?" Harry gasped, and Severus stilled, not knowing the answer, because he'd forgotten where he was, who he was with. Then he looked down, and almost laughed at how some things were second nature. His finger was inside Harry, held in a tight heat that Severus couldn't think about.

"I'm getting you ready," Severus answered.

"Don't," Harry answered. "Just fuck me, please," he whined.

"I don't want to hurt you," Severus frowned.

"I do. Oh please, fuck me. Get in me, please. Please."

Severus didn't like the words, the familiar pleading for one pain instead of another, but Harry's voice cut through him, through the quick of him, and then he was inside Harry, and it felt incredible, and he let himself remember every rape, every curse, because _this_ was heaven, _this_ was his body, _this_ was human. This was real. Harry moaning underneath him, moaning for need, for touch, so Severus touched him, and tasted the salt slick of his back, and felt the feather soft of his skin, and he came, and came, and his heart stopped, and started again, and he fell asleep, feeling safe for once, with life draped around him, a hot life snoring softly against his shoulder. This was real.

...ooo...ooo...

Harry's hand slammed hard into the alarm clock that he was sure he hadn't set. It was nine, the light was pushing its way through the drawn blinds on the window above his bed, and Severus Snape was gone. Harry groaned as he stretched his legs and rubbed harshly at his eyes. If this had been like last time, Harry would have left the room and found Snape sitting at his table, drinking strong tea with a bland expression, waiting to explain to Harry all the reasons why the night before had been a mistake. And Harry would have accepted it for a moment, because he'd have been late for a meeting with Albus. And then he'd have been whisked away to a safe house, and would have spent a few months wondering, what if, until he'd have come to conclusion that he had more to worry about than his first one-night stand and he'd have concentrated on his pleas to get out of the damn safe house. But this time, Snape wasn't waiting for him just outside the door. The flat was empty, Snape's bag was gone, and this time Harry was the one who'd been left behind.

"Bastard," he muttered, making his way into the shower. He had to get to work. He told himself that the last thing either of them needed was a relationship with an emotional cripple. And if certain parts of his body disagreed with him, and if said parts didn't respond to a growled, "Fuck off," Harry told himself that a morning shoveling lizard shit would soon cure him of residual lust. Hopefully.

An hour later, Harry was sharing a Danish with Helen in the zoo's break room.

"Looking a bit stiff there, mate?" Helen grinned, watching Harry carefully maneuver himself into a hard metal chair.

"You have no idea," Harry said around the mouthful of pastry he was working on.

"Charming."

"Hey Helen, you ever had a repeat one-nighter?" Harry asked, scowling into his coffee cup.

"I've had two marriages that were series of one-nighters," Helen laughed ruefully. "Wake up alone this morning?"

"Something like that," Harry admitted.

"Men are bastards," Helen said sympathetically.

"With exceptions?"

"You know what I mean," Helen answered smacking Harry on the shoulder. He winced, and blushed from the memory of that mark.

"Well, he was always a bastard," Harry sighed.

"But your bastard?"

"Not really. But damn, what an ass."

"That good, eh?"

Harry just blushed and returned his attention to the pastry, cursing himself for allowing himself to feel jilted, when it was what he deserved.

...ooo...ooo...

Ron Weasley was standing in front of the door to Harry's flat when he came home from work.

"Snape was here, yesterday," Ron said to the door. Harry wasn't sure if his old friend was trying to ignore him, or if he was concentrating on the warding spell he was adding.

"I know," Harry said slowly. It didn't seem right, that the first words they'd spoken in months was about Severus Snape, of all people.

"I wanted to have this done before you got back, but I had to call in someone to take down what you already had up," Ron explained, still facing the door, even though he'd holstered his wand.

"Why?" Harry asked, not sure how comfortable he was trusting anyone, even Ron, playing around with the security measures he'd set up around his home, such as they were.

"It'll let us know if you're ever…in trouble," Ron shrugged. "And if anyone breaks in when you're out."

"Thanks, I guess," Harry stammered. He wished he could just punch Ron on the arm, hand him one of the beers he had in the grocer's bag he was holding, and invite him inside for something to eat. But he also wished, everyday, that he could see Hermione one more time, and that never happened, so he couldn't see how this was any easier.

"What did he want?" Ron asked.

"Who?"

"Snape."

"Oh. Um, he's left the magical world. Guess he needed somewhere to stay the night. I don't know, he's gone now," Harry answered, embarrassed now by the noise they had made last night.

"I know."

"Do you know…where?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual but coming off, he was sure, as pathetic.

"Trying to touch up the Ministry for funds, finally. Thought he'd have gone to them first, but it doesn't matter. Didn't work."

"Funds?" Harry frowned, putting his bag down.

"Yeah, they took everything he had, when he defected."

"He didn't defect," Harry said coolly, trying to keep from shouting.

"I know."

"Ok."

"Look, I have to get back to my place. The ward is coded just for you, so if you…wanted guests, you'd have to walk them through the door the first time."

With that, Ron finally turned away from the door, but still he didn't meet Harry's eyes, and he was already down the stairs before Harry could think to stop him.

...ooo...ooo...

Harry slammed his hand into the alarm clock before his sleep-addled brain even registered that it was a muffled shout and the buzz of a strong hex that had woken him up in the middle of the night.

"Fuck," he hissed, his feet hitting the cold floor as he ran to the front door, wand held tightly in his hand, heart beat predictably steady, considering the scares he'd endured over the years. A scuffle in the hall was little to worry about.

"Ron?" Harry asked, having opened the door to a flurry of orange and black, a storm of cursing and wet-sounding thuds, two wands abandoned on the floor, as if one of them had finally realized that they were in a Muggle building.

"He was trying to break your wards!" Ron yelped, his hair being harshly tugged, his groin being cruelly kneed.

"I was _knocking_, Weasley. Whoever cast those wards was an incompetent fool! You?" Snape was answered with an uppercut to the chin.

"_Stupefy_," Harry yawned. He didn't bother untangling the heap of bodies before levitating them into his living room and dropping them unceremoniously on the floor. As soon as he was released from the spell, Ron pushed away from Snape, backing up to the sofa with comical speed, alternately rubbing at his bloodied nose and his bruised balls. Snape just straightened his jacket and sat up straight.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked Snape, after handing Ron a plastic bag filled with ice.

"Probably come to hit you up for money, too," Ron growled.

"This doesn't concern you, Weasley," Snape countered sharply. "You've done your civic duty, now go home like a good little boy."

"It bloody well does concern me, I'm his friend!" Ron shouted.

"Really?" Severus asked, eyebrow raised in that smug way that both Harry and Ron had always despised.

"Whatever. I'm not leaving until you do," Ron answered, pointedly not looking at Harry for his reaction. He'd ensconced himself on the sofa, arms crossed tightly across his chest, scowling at Snape, who'd moved to stand against the wall, casually leaning against the bookshelf there.

"Ron, it's fine. And it's late. Why don't you go back to bed? You'll know if I need any help," Harry sighed, knowing that his old friend would see it as choosing sides, but not knowing how else to diffuse the situation, when both guests were so stubborn as to stay there all night, waiting for the other to break.

"Fine. I don't care _what_ you do," Ron fairly snarled, storming out before Harry could decide if he should even try to call him back.

"Some things never change," Severus sneered, once they were alone.

"Everything's changed," Harry snapped back, hating the man, hating how his body reacted to him, hating how his heart reacted to him. "What do you want?"

"I left something here," Severus answered, hiding his face by turning it towards the books on the shelves.

"No, you didn't," Harry answered. He'd already looked, that very morning, for anything to hold on to. It was all gone.

"I'd hoped I had," Severus said, finally looking at Harry, willing him to understand.

"What happened at the Ministry?" Harry finally asked, not knowing what he could say to Severus that wouldn't hurt them both in the end.

"They've begun the process of giving me back the deed to my property, since it's only being used for crops at the moment. But they refuse to pay reparation, so I'm officially on the dole," Severus laughed, trying to salvage his pride. It had been a trying day, a humbling day.

"Why won't they give you your money?" Harry asked.

"I used an Unforgivable on Shacklebolt, when I was evading capture. They said I'm lucky I'm not serving time in Azkaban."

"What were you supposed to do?" Harry spit out angrily. "He'd have turned you over to the Dementors too!"

"I was supposed to let him," Severus shrugged. "Aren't you going to ask me, Harry?"

"What?" Harry asked, damning himself for not needing to ask.

"Why I left, this morning?"

"You had things to take care of," Harry said.

"I could have told you."

"Yes."

Severus looked away, walked over to the window. He'd never really enjoyed London, the lights. From Harry's flat, he could see the London Eye, something he'd only read about in the newspapers. He supposed it was something like flying, for Muggles. _Oh, the illusions we cling to_.

"It never stops," Harry said, startling Severus with the proximity. He hadn't even noticed Harry's approach, and that both frightened and comforted him, considering how jumpy he'd been since his liberation from Voldemort's dungeons. He was glad to feel safe around someone again, relieved that the someone was Harry, but terrified that he was so vulnerable, again.

"What?"

"The Ferris Wheel. It never stops. It goes around so slowly, it doesn't need to," Harry clarified.

"I didn't want to stay here because I need to," Severus said.

"Don't you?"

"Yes."

"Look, I have to be up in a few hours. Why don't we get some sleep? We'll go over the logistics tomorrow evening. Date?"

"I don't do _dates_," Severus half-heartedly sneered.

"Bugger off. I'm going to bed."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"It's fine."

...ooo...ooo...

Severus was in the kitchen, raiding the pantry when Harry woke up the next morning.

"You have no food," he greeted, not bothering to move out of the way when Harry approached, forcing him to reach around the older man for the coffee pot. Harry might have thought it playful, from anyone else, but Severus was simply unwilling to move an inch.

"Those boxes with the annoyingly cheerful cartoons on them, that's food," Harry mumbled, moving over to the sink to fill the pot with water.

"Let me rephrase. You have no _edible_ food," Severus groused, trying to hide his interest in whatever it was Harry was doing.

"See that?" Harry asked, pointing to the refrigerator.

"I'm not completely ignorant of Muggle ways," Severus answered.

"Yeah? What's this then?" Harry grinned, holding up the coffee filter he'd just filled.

"Paper."

"Right. Muggle of the year," Harry teased, setting the coffee pot and going over to the refrigerator. Generally, he just grabbed a pastry on his way to work, but he was sure there was something Severus could stomach in his apartment. "Eggs?" he asked Severus, pulling out the carton, trying to be discrete as he searched for an expiration date, unsure if there even was one.

"Fine," Severus answered, leaving the kitchen to sit on the sofa and stare at the television set, which was still switched off.

"Look, I can tell you where the pans are and how to work the stove, but there's no way in _hell_ I'm cooking you breakfast," Harry announced.

"You were much more accommodating the other night," Severus smirked, showing no interest in returning to the kitchen.

"Piss off," Harry groused, mock-indignant as he wrapped his fingers around the warm mug of coffee. Real winter would be here any day, already the flat was getting too cold for comfort. He'd need to buy a new blanket for the bed, if Severus would keep hogging the covers.

"Are you leaving soon?" Severus asked, still staring at the TV. Harry sighed, but the carton of eggs back in the fridge and joined him on the sofa, passing him the remote.

"Yes. You want to come along? Or will you be ok here?"

"Do I look helpless to you?" Severus snapped.

"No, just bored," Harry smiled, telling himself that it was endearing, how grouchy the man was. It was a lie, of course, but one he was comfortable with. For now.

"I'll be going to Diagon Alley."

"Job hunting?"

When Severus didn't answer, Harry left to take a shower and dress for work. When he came back into the living room, his guest was still sitting on the sofa, staring at the blank screen. Harry went to put his hand on his shoulder, to say goodbye, but Severus fairly jumped out of his reach, warned of his approach from the reflection in the television. Not knowing what he'd done wrong, hoping it was only a reaction from his time missing, then cursing himself for such a selfish hope, Harry simply left, not at all sure if he'd be alone again when he came home.


	4. Chapter 4

"Imbeciles," Severus muttered under his breath, as he sat in the corner table at the Leaky Cauldron, nursing the same glass of scotch that he'd had for nearly an hour, the only one he could afford. It was foolish, he knew, spending the only money he'd been able to earn on a drink, one too small to do any good. The day had been a waste, much like the day before and the days before that. He'd been staying with Harry for nearly two weeks now. Every morning, he'd wake up with the sun. He'd wait for Harry to wake up. He'd pick a fight with him or fuck. He'd wait for him to leave for work. Then he would leave, coming to Diagon Alley to peddle his wares, such as they were. At first, he'd gone to all the apothecaries. Then all the bookshops. Then every store on Knockturn Alley. And finally, every store on the main street, even the damned ice cream parlor, trying to ignore the giggles of the younger patrons as he left, turned down once again. "Respectable" people shied away from him. The more shady element knew him for what he was: a spy. He was untouchable. His only recourse, after having exhausted his options in London and unwilling, as of yet, to try his luck somewhere else, or even in the Muggle world, was to work as a free-lance potion brewer. He'd posted a notice at the werewolf halfway house, offering Wolfsbane for the price of ingredients plus a ten percent commission, but it was the wrong time of the lunar cycle, and he doubted many there could afford his services. He spent three galleons, more than half of his weekly allowance from the Wizard Social Services department, on ingredients for various potions, which he'd been forced to brew in Harry's kitchen pots. The past week, he'd discovered that cosmetics went further than practical potions, and that there could be a big market for semi-legal pain potions if he could find anyone willing to sell him the ingredients, but still the profits were small, and he only made enough money to buy his share of food and this one drink.

When he'd left Hogwarts in May, he'd immediately gone to London, even though he had no money, no hope of finding any. But he'd went to Ollivander's anyway, trusting some ridiculous hope that he was sure was a hallucination, only to find that it was justified. Dumbledore had sent word to the man, and Severus found his replacement wand had been paid for. Following the sickening hunch, he went to Gringotts and found his vault had been filled with a hefty sum. The accompanying note, from Albus, explained that it was not charity, it was back pay. It wasn't much, and knew he couldn't expect more, when this money was coming from the Headmaster's own pockets, but it was enough to start with. He'd bought one set of robes, a pair of shoes, and a warm meal. And then he'd waited, for what he did not know. At the time, he didn't try to find work, a means of supporting himself. He knew it was fruitless, and, more than that, he wasn't ready. It had been relatively easy, when within the castle's walls, to pretend that his prolonged torture at the hands of the Death Eaters had meant nothing to him but a few scars, but in the real world, he was a shaking, terrified shell of a man. So he took up rooms in a hostel of sorts, a lodging for witches and wizards displaced by the war, and he waited. His answer came with summer, and a letter from Remus Lupin offering him the fold-out sofa bed in his home. Severus accepted, and spent the months with Remus, living as a virtual House Elf, even though nothing was expected of him. Remus let him get on with things, let him have nightmares if he wanted to, let him just sit and stare at the walls, at his wrists, at him. It was all Severus needed, and of course it ended too soon, when Remus had to go back to the school. The offer was made, but Severus couldn't let himself stay in Remus's home, living off the generosity that the man could barely afford. Instead, he went to the werewolf half-way house in London and had taken lodgings there, in exchange for the Wolfsbane potion, until his room was needed. And then, he was forced to take stock of what he had. A handful of coins in the bank, reserved for emergencies. One friend that he refused to turn to again. And a hole in his heart. So he'd gone to Harry.

He supposed he should be grateful to Harry. The man never asked him how his "job hunt" was going, only how his day was. He never got too angry with him when Severus lost his temper. He never made hints that he was unwelcome, that he was expected to leave soon. But Severus was anything but grateful. Sitting there in the pub, finally finishing his scotch in one burning swallow, he was certain he hated Harry Potter. Hated the easy smiles, the way the young man had thrown himself into the unknown world and had landed on his feet. He hated the acceptance of Severus's failures, as if they were to be expected. He hated the way his body reacted when Harry would accidentally touch his back or wrists, even if he didn't know _why_ it was such a cruel thing to do. But most of all, Severus hated Harry for saving his life. He didn't care that it was irrational. He didn't examine why he'd felt nothing but kinship, respect, and gratitude towards Remus, and only bitterness and resentment towards Harry. The only thing in his mind that he was willing to face was the sharp heat that he felt every time he looked at Harry, and of course it had to be hate. He didn't know anything else that could hurt so much.

"Beat you here," Harry greeted when he came home. Severus wasn't sure if he was more angry for the fact that he was late, or that he'd come to think of Harry's flat as his home.

"I didn't want to risk the bus in this snow," Severus answered, throwing off the coat he'd taken from Harry's closet, hating how well it fit him these days. He was supposed to be bigger than this.

"I'm in the mood for curry," Harry called from the kitchen. "That ok with you?"

Severus didn't bother answering, knowing he couldn't afford to be choosy when it came to meals. The food he'd bought that week was already gone.

"Jesus, what happened to your shoes?" Harry gasped, having left the food to simmer so he could properly greet Severus, maybe ask about his day, see if he was interested in hearing about the zoo, though he doubted it.

"I'm losing my sole," Severus answered, without a trace of humour.

"Well…fix it," Harry said, pointing at Severus's wand.

"No, there's more room this way," he answered, hoping that Harry would let the issue drop. He'd traded his own shoes with one of the werewolves, and had gotten himself a unicorn horn worth 20 galleons in today's market. So what if they were a few sizes too small?

Harry didn't say anything. It was worse. He pulled out his wallet and handed Severus twenty pounds.

"No," Severus growled, throwing the money on the table, trying to move away from Harry, who was warm at his side and had laid his hand on his thigh.

"Just take a few pounds, buy some new shoes, for God's sake," Harry sighed. He knew how much Severus hated accepting anything from him. With Ron, Harry'd always gotten away with giving him things as long as they were presents for birthdays or legitimate holidays, but Severus wouldn't tell him when his birthday was, and Christmas was weeks away, and he doubted a bank holiday would count. But Ron had always had warm clothes, and most everything else he needed, whereas Severus was walking around God knows where, in the middle of a bitter winter, with no money, Harry's threadbare coat, and holes in his shoes. There was nothing for it…except an idea he'd mulled over once or twice. Hermione would have left Severus something, he was sure, if only she'd known he was alive. Maybe…

"I am not your _whore_, Potter. No matter what you may have heard from your little friend downstairs, I didn't _voluntarily_ fuck half of Voldemort's faithful, so if you're expecting me to just bend over and be grateful every time you give me some cash, you can fuck off," Severus snapped, pushing himself away from Harry, with the result of Harry landing on the floor, not knowing what to say.

The smoke alarm saved him from making too much of an ass of himself.

"Fuck!" he hissed as he grabbed the smoldering pan from the stove and threw it into the sink. His skin was already starting to blister when Ron suddenly burst through the door, and Harry was torn between laughing and crying at the whole mess the night had become.

"Harry?" Ron asked quietly, seeing Harry leaning over the sink, his head bowed, his frame shaking.

"Just a culinary disaster," Severus drawled from the sofa. "It's amazing how one's failure at Potions can extend so far into other areas of life."

"Like your mastery of the subject's done you much good," Ron sniped back, his attention still on Harry, who hadn't stopped shaking. "Do you need a doctor?"

"N-no. It's fine," Harry answered calmly. He was too afraid to look down at his hand again, but he knew real pain, and this didn't come close.

"Do you need…?"

"Nothing right now, Ron, really," Harry whispered. "You can go."

"Fine," Ron answered, but it was more sad than angry, and both supposed that was something.

Once they were alone again, Harry opened his eyes and looked at his hand. It didn't look good, but he couldn't care about that at the moment.

"I…Severus, I didn't know. Christ I didn't, I swear, I," he stammered.

"_Spare_ me. My faith's renewed in Weasley's discretion, but I still refuse to accept your charity," Severus answered coldly. He hadn't even moved from the couch to see if Harry was ok. He was just staring at the blank screen, arms folded over his chest like a child who hadn't gotten its way.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you? Apart from the obvious. One minute you're all over me, and then, instead of coming down my throat, you're _jumping_ down it, with all this shit. When, in all the years you've known me, have I been the sort that would let a friend suffer needlessly?"

"_Friend_? Is that what we are, Potter?" he asked, his voice dangerously low, something Harry knew too well, but he pressed on.

"Well, why not? You had to have come to me for some reason," Harry answered, trying to sound confident but knowing that he'd been fooling himself ever since Severus came back into his life.

"I thought it was obvious. You just said it yourself, did you not? I take great pleasure in berating you, and in fucking you. Those activities aside, I'm afraid I have little use for you."

"You're lying," Harry whispered, his hands curling into fists by instinct, and it took all his strength not to cry out from the pain. "I don't know what you're playing at, but I _know_ you're lying." Another lie, Harry thought, but part of him needed to follow this road.

"Really? That confident in your worth, are you?"

"That's not – ,"

"No, please, _do_ enlighten me. Why should I find anything worthy in you, apart from a good lay? And believe me, even _that_ is lacking. Let's enumerate your qualities. Scrawny. Pale. Powerful, but no academic, no bright mind. Careless. Self-involved. Insecure. Guilt-complex, constantly at odds with an ego that makes you over-estimate your abilities and importance. Reckless. Formerly brave, but now look at you, hiding with the Muggles. Formerly loyal, but, well, look at what you've done to your _friends_. No, Potter, I wouldn't care to be a friend of yours. Look at you. Sitting here in this shit hole, all that wealth in the bank because you're too afraid to touch it. And maybe too greedy? Do you enjoy holding it over me, knowing that you could give me a fraction of your inheritance and I'd be richer than I was before I lost everything? Do you enjoy keeping me here, the one person who can stomach to be around you these days? Can you even see how pathetic you are? Oh, yes. You can. I can _see _it in your eyes, can feel your chest fairly caving in. And you don't even have that anger anymore, the fight that I once found appealing. You're just gagging to accept all these taunts, to fall to the floor and curl up with the hot little fact that you are a waste of magic. Friends? I may be destitute, but I'm not _desperate_."

The apartment was silent, the air between them still, dead, heavy, for just a moment, while each considered Severus's words, like they were watching a car crash in slow motion, an explosion that neither could stop, because the moment had come and gone. And they were so fascinated by the horror, the promise of carnage, that neither had even thought to move.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Harry reacted. He took a shaky breath, eyes welling, as he told himself it was just the pain of his fingernails cutting into the open wound on his palm. He felt...he felt nothing much. Except shame.

"I…I have to go. I'm…I'll just go," he stammered, as he ran out the door, desperate to be as far from Severus as possible before he fell to his knees and vomited all over the hall floor.

"Shit," he whimpered, once he'd finally caught his breath and opened his eyes to wear he was, and what he'd done. He was a mess, scared at all the blood he'd brought up, angry that the knees of his pants were soaked through. He wanted, more than anything, to go the pub, down a bottle of vodka and maybe, with luck, forget where he lived, and who was waiting for him there. But he couldn't, because he was a mess and it was snowing outside, and he'd left his coat back there, with that man that hated him. So he went to the one place close by, to another man who, he was sure, hated him. But one who had seen him covered in his own sick before, and hadn't laughed.

"Where's your little friend?" Ron asked, when he finally came to the door. Harry was sure he knew he'd been standing there, trying to knock for a few good minutes, but if Ron thought him pathetic, he didn't let on.

"Don't call him that," Harry answered, voice dead.

"Fine. But you're fucking, right?" Ron kept on, hard even when he gently led Harry to the kitchen table and set a bottle of Butterbeer before him.

"That obvious?" Harry asked. He didn't touch the drink. If he drank, he wouldn't stop until he blacked out, and then he'd wake up and do it again and again, and that was too easy a way for things to end, for him.

"So how'd that go? 'Hi Harry, good news, I'm not _really_ a Death Eater, so let's shag?'"

"It wasn't like that. There's…there was a history," Harry answered, wishing they didn't have to get into this. But it was Ron's house, and he had nowhere else to go. And no one else that cared to ask the questions.

"You mean you and him…before?" Ron spluttered

"Look, I was bored and lonely and we were both frustrated and it just happened," Harry sighed, wishing he didn't feel the need to defend Severus in all this. But really, the man had been honest about everything, he had been from the beginning.

"Wait, when was this?"

"Hogwarts."

"When you were a student?" Ron exclaimed.

"No! No, after, the night before I was sent to the house."

"And what, it was your way of saying goodbye?"

"Christ, I didn't know I was leaving!" Harry shouted.

"Did he?"

"…Oh," was all Harry could say. He had thought that no one knew, but now, looking back, someone had to have set up the house. Someone had to have dealt with the specifics. And Severus had been angry, that night, about something. It wasn't unusual, of course, but now Harry was remembering the details. The stares. The lingering…touches. Kisses. The silent goodbye, and the stupid, played-out fight. Severus had made it almost easy for Harry to leave him that morning.

"You want me to get rid of him for you?" Ron asked quietly, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"No. I don't know. Do you…can I maybe stay here, for tonight?" Harry asked. He didn't think Ron would refuse him, but knowing that he had every right to made him nervous, and made him regret ever knocking on the door.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Just…he just reminded me of something. That I let myself forget. If it's a problem…"

"No, it's fine. You can stay, as long as you need. Make my job easier, at any rate."

"Thanks. Ron…"

"It's ok. Well, no, it's fucked up, but, you know," he shrugged.

"Normal," Harry finished, smiling, as much as he could.

"Yeah. Couch fine?"

"Great," Harry mumbled, sitting on the sofa, staring at his knees, hating that he was about to cry, when he'd been doing so well, these last weeks.

"Harry?"

"I'm fine."

"Need anything, for the hand?"

He did. His hand was raw, the skin flaking away, the raw of him bubbling and white and infected, and open to everything.

"No, it's fine. I'm fine."

"Good night."

"Night."

...ooo...ooo...

"I said no."

Harry woke up slowly, suppressing a groan over the dull pain that seemed to cover his entire body, when he heard Ron's voice coming from the hallway, though the open door.

"Fine. At least give me something to write on, so I can leave a note."

It was Severus. Harry moved to bury his face in his hands, but stopped when the smell hit him. His hand. It was bandaged, treated with a potion he knew too well. Ron must have done it in the night.

"Fuck off."

"Listen Weasley, I know you're trying to protect him, and I'm grateful to you for it." Severus's voice was low, but needy, hungry. Something Harry had never heard before, and he couldn't help but listen in. "But I need to tell him something. I…agree with you that he's better off without me, but he needs to hear this."

"Why?" Ron asked, sounding more curious than angry, at last.

"Because I said something last night, something unforgivable, and I'm sure he doesn't know I was lying. And I'm sure he needs to hear me say it, that I was lying. And then, if he wants me to, I'll leave. Forever. But…did he tell you, about last night? Did he say anything?"

"He said you reminded him of something he forgot."

"Fuck. Weasley, let me see him. I can't…he can't go on thinking that what I told him was the truth. Let me explain."

"What the hell did you _say_?" Ron growled.

"Every ugly thing that I thought he'd believe."

"Look, he's still asleep. Can't you just -."

"I'm here," Harry called from where he lay. While he had eavesdropped, he'd tried to hold on to his hurt , his anger, his juvenile sense of betrayal, but then he heard the pleading in Severus's voice, and he remembered what he'd let slip last night, about the rapes, and though he knew Severus would hate him for it, Harry had to forgive him anything, just for that.

"If he wants you to leave, you'll leave," Ron said sternly, still standing in the hall, blocking the way in.

"Yes."

The door opened, and Harry sat up and straightened his hair as Ron poked his head inside.

"I'll be just outside," he said, eyes asking if this was safe.

"Thanks," Harry said, trying to smile.

"Harry," Severus greeted, once the door was closed behind him.

"Did you know I was going to be removed from Hogwarts, that night?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Severus whispered.

"And…what was it? That made you want to…was it because there would be no consequences? Because I'd be out of your hair come morning, and you would be able to pretend nothing happened?"

"No. I…no. It was my last chance. I wouldn't have chosen it to be like that, Harry. But it was my last chance. With you," Severus answered, knowing he couldn't explain why he'd let himself sleep with Harry that August night. It was hot, and it felt like everything was ending, and he didn't want to let Harry go. That was what it came to, really. He didn't want to let Harry go.

"Ok," Harry said at last. There was nothing else he could say.

"Harry, about last night…"

"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted. "I didn't know. If I had, I wouldn't have…done anything to make you feel that way, like I was buying you. I…I don't know what I did to make you think I'd do that, but…I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything," Severus sighed. "I can only think of one reason that I'd say that to you."

"Yeah," Harry sighed, shakily. Why did he always feel about to break in front of this man? "You explained it last night. It's just…it's been a few good weeks, you know? I thought…well, it doesn't matter, but being with you, I let myself forget why…I mean, I know why you said those things. Doing me a favor, really. I've been too happy to even think about…her. It was stupid. I'm not allowed to…it doesn't matter. You were right. I let myself think that…but you're right." He felt sick. He felt like his heart was shivering. He felt his eyelashes damp and hot against his eyes. He felt like he needed to throw up. He needed to stop breathing.

"I love you."

And he stopped breathing.

"I love you Harry. I have for a very long time. And what I said, last night, everything was a lie. I wish I didn't have to explain that to you, but I love you more for it. I wanted to tell you, before I leave, that you're the bravest man I know. That you are one of the kindest I know. That you saved me. That I love you, love touching you, love everything about you. I want to be with you. What can I tell you, to make this right? I forgive you everything, even though you don't need my forgiveness. I admire you. I envy you. I need you. And…I'll miss you."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, voice tight with panic. He couldn't breathe.

"I have to go. I have to make a place for myself, face some things that I've been hiding from for far too long."

"So, you're just going to leave? Like that?" Harry asked.

"I don't know how else to do it," Severus whispered.

"Stay."

"No. Harry, I love you but I can't be here, right now. Can't you see that?"

"No."

"I'm sorry. I hope you'll understand, soon. But I'm going to go now. I just needed you to know that everything I said last night, _everything_, was a lie. I hope you'll accept that, and believe it. Try to. Try to believe it, try to forgive yourself, before I come back. Will you?"

"When are you coming back?"

"I don't know. When I'm a man again."

"Can I…will you let me know how you are?"

"We'll see. I have to go now."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Yes. I'll…Remus will know where I am, if you need to find me. If you need me."

"I need you."

"Thank you. But I'm not…me, right now. I'm not whole. I've just…I need to go."

"It's ok. I'll be here."

"Thank you."

"Bye."

"Goodbye."


	5. Chapter 5

**March, 2001**

"How'd it go?" Ron asked, handing Harry a bottle of Butterbeer as he dropped gracelessly onto the sofa.

"Oh, you know me, made an ass of myself, cried like a baby," Harry laughed, still feeling a little warm and woozy from the experience.

"Saw that one coming," Ron grinned.

"Well, they made me a bloody _cake_," Harry explained.

"That was nice."

"Yeah."

"You sorry to be leaving?"

Harry took a deep drink of the Butterbeer and thought about Ron's question. Today had been his last day at the zoo. He'd been thinking about it for weeks, but had finally decided that living in the Muggle world wasn't really about moving on with his life. It was giving up. Ron had helped him see that. Even if all he did was welcome Harry into his life again, talking about the Cannons, talking about Hermione as if she was living down the street, or just in their hearts. Harry rather liked the idea of her being there. Probably with a notebook in hand, quill tucked behind her ear, telling him what an idiot he was being. And besides, she had good company, with all his other absent loves.

"A little," Harry sighed, finally answering Ron's question the best he could. "It was fun. Nice people. But…you know."

"Fucked up?" Ron laughed.

"Well, not completely, but I mean…I was a _zookeeper_," Harry grinned. "I think I can do a little better."

"Not that there's anything wrong with keeping zoo," Ron said, mock-stern.

"Oh no, of course not," Harry rushed out. "But there are other things I should be doing. Or could be doing, at any rate."

"Yeah."

"And now you'll be able to get a real job!" Harry laughed.

"I don't know," Ron teased. "They might just insist that you have a keeper 24/7."

"They can fuck off," Harry warned. "I'm a big boy."

"How many times have I told you, I don't want details," Ron grimaced.

"Prat."

"Yeah. So…"

"What?" Harry asked, knowing that Severus was going to be brought up, just from the cautious but teasing tone of Ron's voice.

"Pharaoh's, that apothecary and general supply store in Hogsmeade, has a new proprietor."

"Oh?"

"Discontinued all Divination supplies to make room for a new line of potions. 'Just add Water'. Brilliant really, for we hopeless few."

"Ron."

"What?" Ron asked innocently.

"He'll come to me when he's ready."

"You sure he'll know when he's ready?"

...ooo...ooo...

"Do you have any crystal balls?" a small voice squeaked. Severus was standing behind the counter of his store, looking over the books. Well, he qualified, it wasn't exactly _his_ store. Matet was still alive, barely, and he still made the final decisions, but for some reason he trusted Severus with the daily operations of the store, and arrangements had been made to transfer the deed and trademark to him, once the old man was dead. Matet had always been a friend to Severus, even when he was but a child in Hogwarts robes. He'd never understand it, but Severus knew enough to be thankful that the few true friends he did have were often tenacious in their loyalty to him.

"Not in the store," Severus answered, trying to keep the disdain out of his voice. "I can order a few models from the manufacturer, if you don't mind the wait, but we don't carry Divination…equipment."

"Pity," the familiar voice said. "I was told there was a tall, dark, handsome man in my future, and I was trying to find out when he'd turn up."

Severus looked up, and sure enough, Harry Potter was standing in front of him.

"You've been busy," Harry went on, awkwardly gesturing to the shop.

"I've been lucky," Severus answered.

"Me too," Harry smiled.

"You have the day off?" Severus asked, closing the portfolio he'd been studying.

"Several," Harry answered. "I left the zoo, a few days ago. I'm…I'm coming back."

"Back?"

"To the magical world. To my life," Harry answered.

'To you' went unsaid.

"What are you going to do?"

"Eat," Harry grinned. "You want to grab some lunch?"

"I'm supposed to meet Remus," Severus frowned. "Do you want to come to the school with me?"

"Uh, no. No. I'll just…dinner?" Harry asked, knowing he wasn't ready to go back to Hogwarts yet.

"I live in the flat upstairs," Severus answered. "Come by at 6?"

"Fine. Good. You want me to bring anything?"

"Just yourself."

"See you then," Harry blushed. As he walked down High Street, he was sure that had gone better than he could have expected.

Severus locked up the shop when he left for the castle. He'd lied to Harry about having plans, but he knew that he'd be welcome at Remus's door. Seeing Harry like that had been so unexpected, and so many words and promises and questions had been rushing through his mind that he knew he needed to take some time before opening his mouth, and Remus was always good for comfortable silences.

"Severus, how are you?" Remus greeted, showing the man inside his office, gesturing him to take a seat at the desk.

"Harry came to see me," Severus announced, knowing the werewolf would forgive the lack of social graces.

"Is everything alright?" Remus frowned. No matter how it pained him, he'd become accustomed to the fact that he only heard from, or rather _about, _ Harry when there was an emergency.

"He's giving up living in the Muggle world," Severus explained.

"That's wonderful!" Remus smiled.

"Yes, yes. What do I do?" Severus asked.

"Pardon?"

"The last time we spoke, I led him to believe that I…love him. That I want a life together. Now he's here and he's given up his old life and…what do I do?"

"I can't believe you need to ask," Remus scoffed.

"Neither can I," Severus scowled. "But I am, just the same."

"Well, were you telling him the truth?" Remus asked.

"Of course," Severus answered quickly. That night he had said such ugly things to Harry, that night Harry had left him, Severus had paced the floor of the apartment they'd been sharing for only a few weeks. He'd been furious at Harry for having pushed him into snapping. He'd been furious with himself for throwing away a free home, good company. But as the hours had passed, and Severus was still alone and pacing, he knew it was something more. What had made him turn to Harry for help? What had made him sleep with him? What had made him hope for more? By the time the sun had risen, Severus had found his logical answer. He loved the boy. Impossible as it seemed, he did. Because Harry made it easy, made everything easy, and Severus was so tired of the hard life. But was he capable of loving Harry in the way he deserved?

"So…," Remus said, deliberately using the voice he'd use with a five-year-old, knowing that the patronizing would goad Severus into rational thought, if not action.

"Fine. You're of no bloody use to me. You know that, don't you Lupin?" Severus sighed.

"Of course," Remus beamed. "Tea?"

"Please."

...ooo...ooo...

"Severus?" Harry called. It was six o'clock, the shop was empty and dark, and Harry was hovering nervously inside, hand on the door.

"Come on up," Severus called, his voice muffled by distance. Harry slowly walked further into the shop, straightening his hair and robes that he still wasn't used to. The place really did look different from his school days. The quills were of a finer quality, the decorative items all gone, the new potions giving the place more color and cheer, at contrast with the increase of dead things floating in jars on the shelves behind the till. It made Harry smile, that curious mix of magic and macabre.

"It's nice down there," Harry greeted. He was standing in a cramped but comfortable flat, staring at Severus, who was looking quaintly at home in an apron as he finished preparing their meal.

"Thank you," Severus smiled.

"Nice in here, too," Harry smiled shyly.

"Yes."

"And I'm just going to stand here and try not to sound even more awkward, if all's the same to you," Harry went on.

"Good luck," Severus smiled, removing his apron. Harry had seen him in pajamas. He'd seen him in torn jeans, in shabby sweaters. He'd seen him naked. But this new casual elegance, the pressed slacks, the crisp shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, top two buttons undone, was something altogether new, and made Harry lick his lips against his will.

"Hungry?" Severus asked, laying the plates on the table. Beef medallions, red wine, asparagus, potatoes. Harry would have been starving if his stomach could stop jumping into his throat.

"Starving," he answered, sitting down at the kitchen table.

They ate in near silence. Some questions were asked. How have you been? Do you like the wine? Can I have some more? How's Remus? How's Ron? The questions were asked and answered, but it was the silence that they paid attention to. Harry thought it might last all night, but he only had to wait until after dessert.

"I'm ready for this, now," Severus murmured. They were sitting close to each other, thighs touching, staring at the fire. And Severus felt so safe, so warm. So human.

"I love you, too," Harry whispered.

Severus shut his eyes, tight, until it hurt too much to not look at Harry.

"Just remember who said it first."

Harry laughed. It was a beautiful sound.

"That's a sound I've been missing."

"A lot has been missing," Harry answered.

"But a lot's coming back."

"How about we hang around here, greet things when they come?"

"I've no plans," Severus smiled, grabbing for Harry's hand.

"Good, because it could take years."

"Where shall we wait?"

"Bedroom?"

"Please," Severus laughed. That was another sound that had been missing. But good things were coming home to them every day, and hopefully, they'd be together to open the door.


End file.
